I was flying from Detroit to Chicago with the Other Half (before he had officially reached that status - we hadn’t married yet but were definitely headed in that direction). By the way - this was before I became a pilot myself. I was Jane Public at the time and just as ignorant and stupid as any other item of self-loading cargo.
Prior to take-off there was some problem with one of the doors. Something about it wouldn’t close. While trying to get it to close the emergency evacuation ramp somehow deployed then fell off the airplane. Ooops. A couple of guys in greasy overalls were sent out to close the door and bang on it with large, metal objects to make sure it stayed closed.
We were informed that that door was now Out of Service and in the event of an emergency evacuation please use one of the other emergency exits.
Well, OK. Didn’t feel too god about that but, hey, stuff happens and we were finally moving out towards the runway.
Now, the following sequence of events takes place much more quickly than the time in which you take to read them. It was a matter of seconds.
The airplane starts rolling, just like in any other take-off, and just about the time the wheels leave the pavement (I mean just as the wheels leave the pavement) we HIT something! :eek:
The entire airplane gets yanked over to the right, the sensation was like being on the end of the line in a game of crack-the-whip. Stuff is shifting about, luggage is falling over, people are yelling and screaming.
My husband (who had some pilot experience at that point) tells me we just lost the right-side engine, as in not working.
A guy across the aisle is looking out the window and yelling the engine is on fire.
Sure enough - you can see black and white billows of smoke coming off the wing, with a few chunks of debris.
We aren’t exactly climbing real well at this point. I’ve got a great view of the ground from my window. I’m suddenly remembering the airplane a couple years previous that had a bad take off from Detroit Metro and crashed into a freeway overpass. Everything is still tilted to the right.
The pilots get the airplane leveled out. The malfunctioning engine stops smoking and shedding parts. I keep telling myself, over and over, that the airplane can fly on just two engines.
OK, at this point things seem to stablize and the plane is, apparently, under control although most obviously Something Is Very Wrong Here.
Me, I thought we’d turn around and go back to the airport we’d just left, but no, we don’t. No, we keep going to Chicago.
At one point the captain does address us on the PA - saying the situation was stable and if someone absolutely had to get up for some reason they could, but make it quick and otherwise everyone stay seated and buckled in. I kinda of wish he hadn’t talked to us - he sounded scared enough to wet his pants and, hell, if the pilot is scared…!!! :eek:
Now, really, the worst was over but we didn’t know that - nothing else bad happed for the next 40 minutes but people cried, they prayed, and I discovered that I really can’t be terrified more than about 15 minutes at a stretch - I think the adrenalin runs out or something. They did let the flight attendants up, drinks were dispensed, and a few nervous bladders were permitted quick trips to the lav, but even the attendants stayed belted in most of the trip.
I did note that we were following I-94 the entire way, instead of going over Lake Michigan as that flight normally did. Ah, thinks me, the pilot is thinking about emergency runways, isn’t he? At the time I was thinking he’d land on the freeway itself (and maybe, if necessary, he would have) but I now know that there are actually a number of airports along I-94 on that stretch that could handle such an airplane making a forced landing. In any case, we were very low for an airline flight.
How low? Well, at one point I’m looking out the window reading the signs over the freeway - the ones giving the exist for various streets. I’m looking out, reading off the signs “Grant”… “Burr”… “Cline”… “Indianapolis Boulevard”… Later, I found out those are the major exit roads on I-94 for the city of Gary, Indiana.
We were even lower coming over the south side of Chicago. We were flying into Midway Airport, and the pilot comes on again informing us that we will not be allowed to park at the gate - we will deplane and be taken to the terminal. It looks like we just barely clear the fence around Midway, and when the wheels touched down my part of the airplane was still over grass. We rolled down the runway pursued by emergency vehicles with lights flashing and sirens wailing.
We stopped off to one side of the terminal building and as soon as we stop the attendants are up and opening the doors. We hustle off the airplane, down one of those movable sets of steps. Meanwhile, a bunch of mechanics are up on ladders around the offending engine, which even to a layperson’s eyes is considerably worse for wear.
Most like source of problem? Seagull. Or something birdlike. But it’s not like there was much left of the object, and apparently some of the engine innards were missing as well.
Anyhow, it was a pretty scary experience. At the time I thought we should have turned back to our original airport instead of continuing and I swore I’d never set foot on another airplane again unless I was in the cockpit making the decisions.
And that’s sort of what happened.
I didn’t get in an airplane for seven years after that, and when I did, I was sitting in the cockpit as a student pilot.
About two years after that, my job required me to fly on business. It was the first time I’d gotten on a commercial get since the Very Bad Flight. And, to be frank, I was terrified. I’m also a fear-puker. I vomited twice before I got on that flight, but I did force myself to get on it.
On take-off, I was clutching the seat, sweating, and feeling nauseous again. A flight attendant came by, cooed comforting words at me, and asked if it was my first flight. I said no, but the one prior had been really, really awful, involving hitting something and fire and bits falling off the engine. She was very nice and comforting to me the whole rest of the flight.
I spent the rest of the flight wondering why flying ultralights was so wonderful, even if MUCH, MUCH riskier than commercial airlines, and why the relatively very extremely safe airline flight was pushing me towards a panic attack. Well, OK, it was pretty obvious why, but I did get through that flight. It took about 4 more trips on the airlines before I was able to relax and start… well… not precisely enjoying the ride but the ride was becoming routine again.
All of which is why I am very sympathetic to frightened passengers. I’ve been there myself.
It’s also why one of the biggest kicks I get out of being a pilot is taking someone up who is afraid and showing them such a good time that when we come down again they say “Wow - that was great. Let’s do it again!”
And that whole thing about fear of flying being irrational - well, no, it’s not entirely irrational and I wish people would stop saying that it is. I mean, people do have bad experiences. They hear about Bad Things that happen. Many people get airsick, so even if they don’t fear flying they certainly do come to dread it.
Beyond that - the average person doesn’t know what’s going on, or why things are done one way and not another. You’re strapped into a cramped little container with a lot of other people who are fearful or queasy or just not happy about something and you can’t leave, you don’t know what’s going on, you don’t know what’s normal or not, and you have no control over what’s happening. Under those circumstances emotions such as dread, fear, and anxiety are actually sort of normal reactions.
When they teach folks to get over their fear of flying two of the things that are done are, first of all, get folks aquainted with what’s normal in the way of bangs, thuds, and other sound effects, and second, teach them how to deal with their emotions so they don’t become overwhelmed. So, in the first instance, you’d learn that a particular thud is the landing gear coming down and locking into place, not something falling off the airplane - and once you know what that sounds is, it’s actually reassuring to hear it prior to landing. In the second… well, some of it is learning not to let the fear overwhelm you and how to calm yourself down. You can be afraid and still function.
Now, that was my worst airline story (OK, it’s my Worst Airplane Experience Ever, commercial flying or otherwise) … I’ve got others from flight training, if anyone is interested, but this thread seemed to be leaning toward the airlines, so that’s what I dredged up.
By the way - I still dread the loss of engine on take-off more than any other emergency in an airplane, whether I’m doing the piloting or someone else is.
